Do y’all know what Mama likes after being up all night long with a coughing toddler and insomnia, and earning exactly ninety minutes of sleep? She likes a little Melatonin. I’m not going to lie. I saw the bottle of Melatonin at our house last night, and I did partake without even batting an eyelash.
I slept like Rip Van Winkle from 9:30 last night until OH GLORIOUS, OH GLORIOUS, OH GLORY HALLELUJAH six o’clock this morning, because so did Thing 2.
(Except he slept from 7:30 last night until 6:00 this morning. He scored a couple extra hours, but who’s counting?)
(And I’m not even kidding. When we get to sleep in until 6 AM at our house, it could just as well be NOON-THIRTY, for all the rejoicing we do.)
I woke up this morning and realized that I couldn’t have felt better rested than Sleeping Beauty did, when the Handsome Prince gave her a little smooch and she sat up and asked him where he was taking her for breakfast, because OH, MY! SOME PANCAKES SOUND GOOD ABOUT NOW. I think that I even functioned like a normal human being, who is not at all sleep-deprived, in gym class today, which was great, because we had the Grand Mother of All Accidents happen, when one of my first graders tripped, fell, hit his face on the gym’s floor… and popped one of his bottom teeth CLEAN THROUGH HIS UPPER LIP, and HELLO, HOLE, RIGHT SMACK THERE. We had enough blood to look like I had botched a leg amputation, which means that I got to use the special-agent cleaner that kills everything from spiders to hollyhocks to bloodborne pathogens. The little fellow’s sweet mama came to collect him, and I think that I apologized sixteen dozen times, until she finally hugged me and said, “You seem more nervous than I am! Things like this happen, and we’ll just pop into the pediatrician to see if he needs a couple of stitches.”
She said this, y’all, because she is A NURSE.
And blood doesn’t bother her.
And neither do holes that sunlight can shine through in an upper lip.
Which is why I am NOT a nurse, because those things DO tend to make my need a paper sack to breathe into.
I’ve taught PE at this little private school going on nineteen years now (I started teaching in preschool, obviously, because PRODIGY), and this is only the second time we’ve had to send a kiddo out for stitches.
And now I get to wipe the big number off the white board that says, “We’ve been accident-free in the gym for 89,471 days,” and write a fat DONUT there.
As it turned out, this little guy’s mom came back to the school, specifically to tell me that HE’S GONNA BE JUST FINE! And because the tooth ripped such a nice, tidy, CLEAN hole through his lip, the doctor decided not to even stitch it. She sent him to the dentist, for X-rays, and all of his teeth are firmly in place. Mom told me, “He’s sore, but he’s SUPER EXCITED, because the dentist told him that he needs to have five entire days of a soft diet. The dentist specifically told him PUDDINGS, ICE CREAM, MILK SHAKES, YOGURT and SOUP.” And then Mom added, “He had a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream for lunch, and he said this was going to be the best week of his life!”
I guess I should have told him, “And you’re welcome for that, Little Man! Without PE today, you’d be eating that piece of overcooked, chicken fried steak for hot lunch.”
Carry on, and may y’all rest like Sleeping Beauty tonight, too, because it is so dadgum refreshing!